Jack Messer and the World Beyond
by IamnotJackMesser
Summary: In the 1920s, a raid on a speakeasy contains an unexpected twist for a Prohibition Agent, casting him headlong into a world lurking in the midsts of the one he's always known
1. Chapter 1

_Sometime in the 1920s _

"_This is a raid!_"

The quiet, luxuriant air of the Roustabout Speakeasy was brought to an abrupt and screeching end as the door to the building was kicked in. Prohibition Agents stormed the room, rifles and tommy-guns at the ready.

It was like they'd kicked a hornet's nest.

Screaming, patrons jumped from their tables, diving for cover or running for the door. Most were intercepted by the agents who had been waiting on them to do so.

Amongst them, one agent strode in, trench coat billowing over suit. He surveyed the room, adjusting the hat on his head as he straightened his tie.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he _knew_ the trajectory of one man, saw he was going to run past him. By the time the man started, he'd already been intercepted by the agent, who passed him back to one of his fellows.

The agent barely even glanced at him. There was murder in the agent's eyes that were fixed on the very back of the room.

He moved towards it with single minded determination, the chaos of the room unfolding around him. It wasn't that the man was unstoppable, or unflappable. he merely _was_.

It had been a long time getting to this spot, to finding this speakeasy and the one who ran it. He'd put a lot of effort into finding them.

Now that effort was paying off.

A group of highly intoxicated young women, none of them old enough to be celebrating more than graduating high school, were led past him. The agent spared them a pitying glance as one stumbled, holding her head.

Prohibition was a thing nine years on and still people fought against it. People still went and bought their illegal booze and put themselves in danger.

They were a class all their own. He couldn't blame them wanting their booze, wanting the thing that made them happy.

It was the others that drew his ire. The ones who ran booze, who supplied it and made it, solely to make themselves richer. No matter what. No matter who it hurt.

It was those kinds of people that the agent hunted down, that he had joined the treasury department all those years ago to stop. They were what drove him.

Moving past the throngs of arrested men and women just going about their day, the agent moved towards the back, his eyes hardening.

There was a door set into the back wall and it slammed open at his approach, emitting two men armed with Thompson guns. Someone screamed behind him at the noise and panicked shuffling began.

The agent's eyes widened and he threw himself to the side, diving behind a jutting wall to avoid the spat of gunfire. He could hear it roaring and feel it tearing chunks out of the masonry, but didn't dare peek his head out to look.

The gunfire finally died down and the agent pulled a revolver free from his coat. Leading with the blued Smith and Wesson Model 10 he peeked his head around the corner and saw the man reloading.

Firing off a shot, he watched the man fall. He felt sick inside, and knew he'd have to confess the killing to his pastor later that week. He'd need to absolve himself of it.

Next to the dead man, the other gangster with a Thompson turned, leveling his gun at the agent. The agent quickly raised his gun, knowing it would be tight. If the trigger was squeezed for even a second…

_BANG!_

Another shot rang out across the room and the other gangster dropped. Glancing over, the agent saw another of his fellows lowering his pistol as he nodded his curly haired head in his direction.

Returning the nod, the agent turned and went through the door. He navigated the short maze of bare hallways before coming up to a door marked by a glazed window. Not even bothering to try the gilded handle, he kicked the door in.

It swung in, revealing the surprised looking man on the other side of the desk. He frowned at the agent for a moment before nodding once.

Reaching behind the desk, he slapped three one hundred dollar bills on the desk before pushing it towards the agent.

The agent just stared at him, his eyes twin pinpoints of ice. matching his gaze, the man's frown deepened. "What's the problem? You're here to shake me up aren't you? Knock my boys around a bit until we pay you off?"

He laid a finger on the three hundreds. "There's your cash."

After another silent moment pinned by the glare, the man huffed and pulled out a couple more hundreds. "There. Is that enough? Do I get to keep my still now?"

"No."

On the Agent's side of the table, he slapped a picture down across from the money. The picture was gruesome, what was left of a little girl.

It wasn't much.

"You still have to answer for Margaret Georges."

The man frowned. "Maybe you're new. Maybe you don't know who I am. I'm Norman Derring and I own this…"

_Whap_!

A deck of playing cards hit the table in between them, slapped down by the agent in a similar manner to the picture. They slid over the table in a mess, some covering the picture and others sliding off the edge.

Eyeing Derring, the agent nodded. "I know who you are Mr. Derring, and I know what you've done. I've spent four years hounding you."

"Ace of Spades."

Derring scowled, staring across at the man. "Won't take my money? Not here for a payoff?"

He flicked a stray card off the stack of hundreds, scooping them back up. "What kind of man are you? Certainly not a smart one."

Meeting the icy glare of the agent, Derring slowly tilted his head to the side, a look of confusion and concentration on his face. Finally the confusion broke.

"Wait a minute…"

His gaze grew more and more sure as his eyes grew shrewder. "Wait a _minute._"

" ….short stature, red hair, blue eyes…" His eyes swept the man's face, detailing his every feature with the cunningness of a trapped rat. "I know _you_. The little East Coast Eliot Ness. Our own little Untouchable…"

A snarl split his features as he spit the man's name out like a curse.

"Agent Jack Messer."

"The one and only." Jack Messer finally allowed a small, predatory smirk to cross his own. "Your empire is crumbling and I'm here to arrest you."

Derring scoffed, chuckling. "You've got to be kidding me."

Jack pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and took a step towards Derring. "Believe me, I'm not."

The cold fury never left his eyes. "You killed children. You have to answer for it. Be grateful I'm only dragging you in front of earthly authorities."

The hand that held his revolver twitched. "I answer to higher."

Derring sat for a moment, staring between the handcuffs and Agent Messer. He moved as if to put his hands on the table to be handcuffed, before violently shoving the table forward.

It slammed into Jack's stomach, doubling him over with a grunt and a grimace. Taking advantage of the man's state, Derring ran past him, bolting out the door and into the myriad hallways.

Pausing for a moment to catch his breath, Jack took off after him, cursing his age. He managed to wind his way through the tunnel-like hallways, emerging a moment later in the main room.

He drew to a stop behind Derring, who had frozen in place at the sight of the numerous Thompsons and revolvers pointed at him.

The rumrunner took a step backwards, and then another, before he almost backed headlong into Jack. Turning, the man went to run back the other direction, before Jack's hand seized him by the collar.

The shorter agent's fist smashed into the man's nose and he crumpled, insensate on the floor. Standing over him, Jack shook his head before kneeling down to snap the handcuffs on him.

"Told you you were under arrest."

He grabbed him by the collar again and hauled him to his feet, amidst the scattered applause from several of the agents. Nodding genially in their direction, he hauled the man back out the door, not missing the glares from some of his fellow agents.

It was an unorthodox job, holding up prohibition, to be sure. Hadn't made him many friends.

Still it helped people, and if keeping anyone who broke that law off the street kept the ones who were dangerously zealous about the sale of alcohol in check, it'd be worth it.

There were those who were drawn to it not because they thought the law was unjust, but because there was law to be broken. They did not smuggle booze for the betterment of people, but to harm them.

People like Derring who did not care who they killed, and who they hurt to get what they wanted.

Those were the ones he went after, that was why he did what he did.

Jack frowned at the curly haired agent. The man was out of the office more than he was in. He was certain that he'd caught one of the men working through a hangover on several occasions when the two had arrived at work in the morning.

It was an open secret that many of the men who sought to uphold the law were secretly breaking it. Some of the best business the bootleggers saw were from Prohis like him. Prohis _un_like him.

It made Jack sick to think about it. Not that Prohibition agents drank, he wouldn't deny them that, but that they'd outsource the men they were supposed to be hunting down. The predators buying food from their prey.

Several of the bootleggers had even refused to take them seriously, with what they claimed was the 'hypocrisy of the ages'. They presumed to take the high ground, the moral standing.

The fact that they had any leg to stand on roiled Jack's blood. It had gone on too long, Prohibition Agents using their position to leverage alcohol instead of confiscating it.

He couldn't change the ones who did, so Jack would have to settle for putting as much of a dent in the moonshining business as he could by himself.

It wasn't like he didn't have his own problems with the movement. It felt sometimes like a Sunday didn't pass when his pastor was not railing against the evils of Prohibition and of using the scriptures to promote it.

Jack knew most, if not all of, those sermons were directed and delivered towards him, the black sheep in the congregation. The_ Prohibition_ Agent.

The one keeping them from their alcohol, who was blockading the Holy Eucharist.

His wife laughed it off, saying it was just the pastor and the deacons taking things a little too seriously. Jack couldn't though. He couldn't help wondering if maybe the pastor was right.

Maybe he was only doing the law of man, but ignoring the Law of the Almighty. A younger Jackson, the same one who would have ben a bootlegger at the drop of a hat wouldn't care, but the older, wearier Jack couldn't muster the same.

He'd had too much of a misspent youth to easily risk the rest of his life doing similar wrongs. Except those wrongs might help prevent further wrongs, and keeping alcohol off the streets and cracking down on those who ran it, might keep more dangerous people at bay.

It wasn't like he could stop. He didn't know how.

Moving to drag Derring out the door, a flash of movement caught Jack's eye and he turned. A face peered out at him from a doorway across the roo. The two seemed to match gazes, and then the face disappeared.

The prospect that one of the bootleggers might get away propelled Jack to toss Derring at one of the other Prohis and take off across the room after the man in a sprint.

He cleared the emptying main room at a breakneck pace, only slowing down as the back hallways enveloped him. His eyes momentarily caught a glimpse of the retreating figure in a long black coat, but the man turned the corner before Jack could get a better look at him.

The chase carried both men through a long series of interconnected hallways, until Jack was sure he was catching up to him. He could finally see him fully, black coat and black boats over grey pants when the man made one final turn.

There was a strange popping noise, and when Jack turned the corner to apprehend his prey, he found himself facing an empty room with no back door, and no black coated man.

It was as if he'd simply vanished.

Jack stood, bewildered and caught completely flatfooted. There was no way the man had completely disappeared. There had to be some sort of other explanation.

Still, as he looked over the room he could find no hidden doorways, no false walls, trapdoors or ladders.

The man had just ran into a room that was entirely and wholly a dead end, and had vanished. Slowly, Jack began to retrace his steps, wondering how much of the fumes from the booze were in the air, and if that could have somehow affected his judgement.

If it had, it would have been the first time he'd gotten anywhere near drunk on the job.

He was walking back, playing the events over and over in his mind when his eyes glanced out an open window, and he saw the shed with the ajar doorway. A possible answer to his disappearing man presented itself and he renegotiated himself towards it.

If it was his man, then he'd finally have an answer.

Light flooded into the room for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Squinting against the light, Renee Goodman pushed towards it, conscious of the chains securing her to the wall. She'd been snatched up by the Thousand Young while walking home from work late one night.

She'd been chained up in the one of the cells under their speakeasy ever since, watching as the ones who had been there before her were taken away. The man who'd come down to get them said it was to test new versions of their booze.

Sometimes he was accompanied by another man, a man in a long dark coat who spoke of things she couldn't understand. He had called them all 'moggles' or something, a term he seemed to use with an almost derisive air. Occasionally he'd taken out a wooden stick and had jabbed them with it, speaking words in some terrible other language.

Impossibly, horrifically, they screamed. She didn't think she'd ever beee able to forget the screams.

The worst, the most unfortunate, had been the ones he'd taken. A few he selected independently of the Thousand Young, He made it where th4y couldn't move, where they were stiff and straight as boards. It was almost like they floated after him.

None of them ever came back.

The woman wasn't sure how much of what she'd seen had actually happene,d and how much had been malnutrition and trauma. She just knew that there had been some things that weree impossible.

Impossible things that had happened right in front of her.

Her time had been up. As of the week before she'd been the one who'd been there the longest. She'd made her peace, had known her time was near.

Until that moment.

She squinted into the light, seeing the figure stepping into the room. He was short, nonsensically that was the first thing she noticed about him. She almost didn't though.

To her he was a giant.

Her eyes finally adjusted to the light she finally perceived the face of her savior. Past the red hair and the mustache, she saw the blueness of his eyes, the way they seemed to reflect the pain of the room around them.

Sweeping his gaze around the small space, she saw him draw his lip up, frowning in disgust. His eyes found her and his look of disgust turned to sorrow.

He stared at her a moment longer until she finally tried to speak, only managing a hacking cough. Light returned to the man's old, sad eyes as he quickly made his way over to her. "Are you okay? Can you speak?"

Soft and kind, his voice was so unlike the sharp commands she'd been used to while she was down there. Reaching forward, he gently touched her hand. "What's your name?"

"Re-Renee."

The man nodded, smiling at her and easily slipping a mask over the pain he seemed to wear like a suit. " My name is Agent Jack Messer. You're safe now Renee. The Thousand Young won't be abducting anyone anymore."

Bashing the rusted lock of the door off, he strode inside, carefully removing the chains that had bound her. Renee fell to the floor, trying to push herself back up.

Her arms were weak, and she could barely support herself.

"Can you stand?"

The young woman tried. She couldn't.

She suddenly felt the man's strong arms around her shoulders, helping her to her feet. Renee leaned heavily against the man, glancing up into his face as he helped her towards the door.

Now that she'd gotten a good look at him, she could tell the man wasn't really anything to look at. His nose looked like it had been broken one too many times, and his eyes were slightly too small for his face.

Combined with his squared jaw and jutting lower lip, it gave the man the appearance of bulldog. It wasn't his physical appearance Renee had noticed though.

It was his heart.

She could see, close as she was to him, the deep sorrow in his eyes. There seemed to be an ocean of grief swimming behind his eyes. He smiled to try to hide it, tried to smile away his pain, but it was still there.

Lurking somewhere under the surface.

Still, the man's smile seemed genuine, not forced. He held her up with steady arms and moved them towards the bright sunlight coming from the open door.

They breached it and she found herself led to the back of an ambulance as the man turned to address several other men in suits. "There's at least a dozen others down there, chained up like her. Make sure they're okay to travel."

The other men nodded, not without some reluctance, Renee noticed, before heading back in. Messer helped her into the back of the ambulance, smiling at her one more time as he stepped back. "You'll be okay now Renee. You're safe."

She was now.

Thanks to him.

"You did good work today Messer."

Jack nodded in recognition of the praise, standing as he was in the office of his immediate superior Zebulon Doyle. The older man delivered the praise with the same look of quiet derision that most of the other agents fixed Jack with.

He represented something most could not stand. Straight-backed, unflinching and lawful. It was something they themselves hated.

He couldn't ever bring himself to be anything less.

"You've been pushing yourself towards this goal for four years haven't you Messer?" The old man's voice held just the slightest touch of sympathy. "The shutting down of these 'Thousand Young'."

"For years." Jack confirmed, remembering the first encounter he'd had with them, the torn apart bodies and being dangled off a rooftop by a man who'd lost his mind. "I'll feel better knowing they've been dealt with."

Doyle nodded slowly. "Someone will rise to take their place, they always do."

The threat was clear, Jack's time would eventually run out, at least according to Doyle. He'd burn out while those that drowned in the corruption would make it.

Jack was determined to prove him wrong, to prove them all wrong. He'd keep the city safe if he had to do it all himself.

He contemplated telling Doyle of thee disappearing man, but thought better of it. Even if they believed him, it would go nowhere furhter than to belittle him for losing a man.

At the best they'd just call him drunk and say he was finally down to their level. Nothing productive would get done towards the apprehending of the man.

They wouldn't even care

"You can go now." Doyle dismissed him almost casually, motioning towards the door with his head.

Not waiting on another opportunity, Jack turned and strode out of the room, holding his head high. Though the others might not like him for what he did, he knew he was doing what he was supposed to.

That was all that mattered.

As the door closed behind him, Jack heard a cough to his right. Glancing over, he saw the curly-haired agent that had saved his life.

He nodded at him. "Nice shot earlier."

"Well you know. There would have been paperwork." The man snarked back at him. "I don't have time for paperwork."

He grinned. "Gotta have that time for chasing frails."

Indeed, to Jack it seemed like all the man did was pursue women. He had it on good authority that not all of those women were unwed.

It wasn't his place though, or his business, so he just nodded at the man. "Just take care Seidel, just be careful."

"Always am." Stuart Seidel chuckled back. "Best person to watch my back is me, always known that."

He saluted Jack, turning and swaggering out of the door. Watching him go, Jack could only shake his head in disbelief.

The Prohibition Bureau took all kinds.

Yawning, Jack glanced at the watch on his arm, noting the lateness of the hour. It had been a long day, running the rumrunners down, and he just wanted to get home.

He strode back over to his desk, slapping the hat down over his head and slipping on his coat before heading out the door.

Crossing the parking lot, he made his way to the green 1919 Roadster sitting and waiting on him. It took a moment to crank, but purred faithfully to life as he slid behind the wheel.

He'd owned the car for ten years, but it had never yet given out on him. He couldn't afford for it to, as he didn't have the money to replace it.

Turning the car towards home, he tried to stave off the exhaustion that threatened to claim him before he made it back.

The house was dark by the time Jack slipped into his bedroom. He unbuttoned and pulled off his dress shirt, standing for a moment in the undershirt underneath before yawning and crawling into bed.

"Evening you." A voice murmured sleepily from beside him.

Grinning, Jack rolled over to face the feminine form in the bed. "Evening. Sorry it took me so long to get back."

One silhouetted, broad shoulder rose in the approximation of a shrug. "You do what you have to do. Did you catch them?"

Jack nodded, grinning. "The 'Thousand Young' are finally all arrested and off the streets. clapped the handcuffs on their boss earlier."

A frown momentarily crossed his features. "I…I think somebody might have managed to get away, but all of the Young were accounted for, and no mention of him in ny of their bookeeping."

The frown deepened. "Doll…What do you call it if somebody disappears right in front of you."

"I'd call it you've been pushing yourself too hard." Leaning over, the woman touched his cheek in the dark, guiding him into her kiss. "Don't worry about it. You managed to stop them,I am so proud of you."

"Glad somebody is." Jack grumbled half-jokingly.

The woman frowned at him in the dark. "Oh come on now. You know the kids are too."

"Well they have to be." Jack quipped, wriggling closer to her and feeling her warmth in the darkness. "They're my kids."

There came the husky musical sound of the woman's laughter in the dark. "Well thank goodness I'm just your wife, so I can be proud of you all on my own."

Her arms snaked out and around him, pulling him closer to her.

Sighing contentedly, he lay in silence for a moment before speaking. "So? How was _your_ day? Managed to catch any bad guys?"

Shaking her head, the woman stuck her tongue out at him. "That's _your_ job. I still can't get that stupid drawer unstuck, so the paperwork keeps piling up on my desk."

Again, the bare shoulder rose and fell in the approximation of a shrug. "Got the final paperwork in for that automobile murderer you caught a couple months ago, so maybe we'll finally be able to put him away."

"All thanks to you." Jack murmured sleepily, crooking his head under her chin. "You're the real hero here."

The woman chuckled again. "Oh hush you, and try to get some sleep. It's a new day tomorrow, and you'll have more bad guys to catch."

"Goodnight Doll." Jack murmured sleepily. "'Night Colette."

Bending down to kiss his forehead, the woman smiled. "Goodnight Jack."


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight beamed across the bed, allowed in by a gap in the curtains. Illuminating the room, it fell across the eyes of the sleeping Jack Messer.

He grumbled in his sleep, unconsciously rolling over to face away from it. Disturbed by it as he had been, Jack began to sink back into the deep recesses of slumber, sleeping off the remains of the previous day.

One arm rose and snaked around the torso of the woman next to him, pulling her closer into his warmth. She herself murmured happily in her sleep, snuggling up against him.

For a few moments, a few minutes, everything was at peace. The world was nothing more than just these two and the bed they slept on.

It was bliss.

Then came the sound of footsteps from the hallway, a door closing, and the sound of water running, and Jack became painfully aware that morning had come and he had to get ready for work.

He rolled over, shutting his eyes against the light.

"It's morning." Jack's wife, Colette, muttered from her side of the bed, burrowing deeper under the covers.

Jack's voice emanated muffled from the pillow. "It's only morning if we acknowledge it Doll. Just shut your eyes, go back to sleep. The morning'll wait."

Slowly but surely, a finger planted itself in his back, pushing him towards the edge. Another finger, and Jack blinked awake drowsily from the floor.

Glancing up Jack matched eyes with his wife, grinning sweetly down at him from her position on the bed, face framed by russet brown hair. She turned her head towards the door before looking back down at him. "Morning's waiting for you."

Heaving himself to his feet, Jack stuck his tongue out at his wife as she buried herself back in the covers. Turning away, the man allowed a devious grin to spread across his features.

The morning was still young.

Stepping out of the room, Jack emerged into the living room, stretching and popping his back. He frowned, looking around the space. Everything seemed to be in order.

The old radio in the corner still stood as it had for nine years prior, as steadfast and resolute as ever. He walked over to it, switching it on and turning the volume down, filling the house with soft song.

Jack stood for a moment and let the music wash over him, basking in the soft scratchy sound in the early morning hours. It was moments like this he lived for, the silent, quiet hours.

The time with just him and his own thoughts.

Standing in the living room, Jack was very cognizant of the years, of the steps that had brought him there. He remembered them all.

Nora.

Lucy.

Meta.

and Evelyn.

Most of all, always Evelyn.

They had all been parts of his past, unfortunate stepping stones in the path that led to that moment. He felt his eyes well up with tears at their memory. His had been a long hard road, a long hard road.

He had made it though, he had made it and he was happy. He had a wife, children, a job he felt comfortable doing. It was a job he felt like he did _good_ with.

He helped people, kept them safe, that was all that mattered with his job. at the end of the day it was something he could feel proud of because it was some way he could help people.

It had been one of the first lessons he'd ever learned, taught to him as cruelly as it possibly could have been. No matter what, no matter who it was, everyone else came first.

After all, he had come first for someone else once. It had cost her her life.

He took another moment to breathe, to collect himself and bask in the morning glow. What he'd lost, what lay behind him was always at the back of his mind. He'd learned long ago to just let it lie under the surface, so he could carry on living.

"Hey dad."

The boy's voice broke through Jack's reminisces and Jack turned, seeing his son standing in the doorway. Conrad Everett Messer blinked at his father sleepily, his russet hair mussed and his blue eyes squinted.

Jack chuckled. "Evie beat you to the bathroom again?"

Nodding, the boy rubbed his eyes. "Since she's a girl it's going to take her twice as long. I could literally be thrown through the shower and I'd be fine."

"Yeah, I'm sure the girls would appreciate that."

The boy blushed as Jack stepped forward and ruffled his hair. The boy laughed, swatting away from his father.

The two were of an even height, though Connie had inherited his mother's hair. The boy was quiet, Jack was glad to know that some of his neglected academia had been inherited by one of his kids.

Connie hadn't decided what he wanted to do with his life yet, or at least hadn't told anybody, but Jack had no doubt he'd put every inch of himself into it. That was just the type of person Connie was.

Down the hallway the sound of the shower cut off. A few more minutes passed and the door swung open, steam roiling from it.

Emerging also from the bathroom, the young girl adjusted her blouse and jacket, fussing with her hair. "…of all the days this doesn't work…I'll just have to get…"

She saw them, her eyes lighting up before they were slowly replaced with a frown. "You're not mom. Either of you."

"Good morning to you to Evie." Jack responded, grinning widely at her.

The girl's frown dissolved as she bounded over to him, hugging the man around the neck. "Morning dad!"

She planted a quick kiss on his cheek before turning and swatting Connie on the arm. "And morning to you too."

The boy grinned. "Morning Twin."

Evie was taller than both her father and her brother, towering two inches over them. Where Connie had inherited his mother's russet hair, Evie's locks were the same fiery orange as her father.

She frowned at both of them. "I'm trying to find mom to see if she can fix _this_."

The girl reached up and pointed at the hair that hung down around her face, pulling at it. "It doesn't want to cooperate today."

Jack stepped forward. "You know…I could try to help."

Moving away, Evie shook her head. "No thank you dad. This requires a certain touch. Neither of you has it."

She smiled jokingly at them as Connie chuckled behind his hand.

"Out you. Both of you. This require's a woman's touch."

Colette was suddenly amongst them, her russet hair waved and her form clad in a teal green dress. She zipped over to Evie, oohing appreciatively as she ghosted her finger's over the girl's wide shoulders. "I love what that blouse does with your shoulders Sweetheart."

"Well you should." Evie grinned at her mother. "You bought it."

"Something had to be done in apology for what I'd given you." Tutting, Colette shook her head. "No one deserves my shoulders."

She wrapped an arm around the girl, guiding her away. "Now come on. Let's get away from the men and fix you up right."

The two women departed, leaving Jack and Connie alone. Jack turned to his son, suddenly serious. "So Connie…when's the last time you…"

He significantly rubbed at the knuckles on one hand.

Connie frowned. "No one's needed it for a while. Not since Chauncey. I settled Chauncey well."

"Good on you." Jack chuckled quietly. "I know you're really protective of her, and that you get into trouble over it sometimes but it does me good to see you taking such good care of your sister."

He let his voice dwindle off and didn't finish his thought. He didn't know how to explain to Connie that when he saw the boy looking after his sister, it made him feel like, in some small way, his debt to Evelyn was being repaid.

He felt like, through his children, he was moving closer to redemption.

Silently, he reached forward and clapped Connie on the shoulder, keeping his hand there for a moment before speaking. "Just always make sure that when you put them on the ground, they're gonna have some trouble getting back up."

"They might think twice about it next time."

The boy nodded, his face triangulated somewhere between concern, determination, and ponderous. "Yes sir."

"Good." Jack slapped him on the back. "Now let's go meet your mother and sister at the dining room table. You'll both need some breakfast in you before school today."

Jack frowned as he stared at himself in the mirror, tracing one hand along his chin. He grimaced as his fingers brushed against the pockmarked, bumpy skin along the left side of his jaw.

It didn't hurt him anymore, not even to the touch, but the sight of it, the memory of what happened, would always haunt him. He'd always hear the rattle of the grenade, the fiery cacophony of the explosion.

His throat and jaw would always burn in his memories, as he lay there, wondering if he'd end up like the boys who went home with plaster faces. He hadn't.

He'd always remember blinking open his eyes and seeing Colette's face staring down at him. Though they'd met once before, that had been the first time they'd properly gotten a chance to meet.

And it was all because she'd managed to save his life. She'd done everything in her power to bring him back from the brink and succeeded.

He owed her everything, and while she wouldn't hold him to it, it was something he'd never forget.

Jack knew, had known for the eleven years since, that he'd gotten lucky. It didn't stop him from remembering it though.

Turning the faucet on, he bent down and washed his face, cleaning off the few strands of mustache hair from where he'd trimmed it up. The worm had gotten a bit too bushy for his taste, and so he'd trimmed it back. It still sat proudly on his upper lip, maintained and orderly.

The only part of his life that was.

Wiping off his face with a towel, he glanced at himself in the mirror again before turning and exiting the bathroom. He crossed the hallway back to his bedroom and up to his wardrobe.

The wooden door squeaked open as he selected a white shirt, gray pants, black vest, and gray jacket. He slipped on the pants and shirt, before selecting a blue and black striped tie, hanging it around his neck.

His hands reached up to tie it but fumbled in the execution, his fingers not nimble or dexterous enough to manage tying it.

"Looks like you might need some help."

Hands reached around him and took hold of the tie, knotting it without even having to look. As they worked, Jack felt a light weight descend on the top of his head.

He could smell the shampoo his wife used on her hair as her presence and her arms enveloped him and her chin rested atop his head. Leaning back against her, Jack closed his eyes and reflected how close to heaven he felt at that moment.

"Tie's done." Her voice murmured into his ear, breath tickling his skin. "You've still got to get to work."

Hands placed on his back propelled him to his feet. Turning, he glanced up at his wife, meeting her gaze. Both grinned at the other for a moment, before he leaned up, and she tilted her head down, the two meeting in the middle.

"Now go save the city hero." Colette murmured against his lips. "Be the honest man that the Bureau needs."

"I do my best Doll." Jack murmured back, resting his forehead against hers. "I'll see you tonight."

"See you tonight Jackanapes."

The two moved in for one more goodbye kiss before Jack stepped away, retrieving his hat from the hatrack and planting it on his head. Turning back, he winked at Colette before exiting the house and closing the door.

Stepping onto his sidewalk, he glanced back at his house, eyeing the flat fronted brick structure. It wasn't much, but it was home, and had been home for almost ten years. He hoped it would be home for many more.

His eyes swept the front yard before coming to rest on his car sitting in the driveway. The old, old reliable Roadster, ready to go into battle as always.

Puttering to life, the car backed out of the driveway, as Jack maneuvered it out of the suburbs.

Making another couple of complicated turns, Jack finally reached the edge of the suburbs, driving out and onto the main road, into the city proper itself.

New Ophelia City stretched out in front of him, shining and glistening, hiding the rot underneath.

The city had been founded in the Ophelia valley, by the Burke and Woodfin families. The two families had built huge mansions on either side of the valleys, and the initial village, same as the valley it rested in, had been named after the Woodfin's eldest daughter, who had married the Burke's eldest son.

The village had sprung up as a neutral space for the workers of both the Burke's and Woodfin's manors.

Their families grew, expanding the village into a town, and the town into a city, until four hundred years and two large fires later, the valley had been completely consumed by the New Ophelia City.

The buildings swept out from the center of the city like ripples in a pond caught in stark relief, the taller skyscrapers in the center of the city flattening out into smaller and smaller buildings as the city swept outwards.

The city was a warzone between the mob and the police and alcohol was the main battleground during prohibition.

The mob wanted booze to flow freely and would do anything to keep it on the streets. The cops on the other hand could care less, but enjoyed the power Prohibition granted them.

The agents tried their best to take down the mob, but the mob always seemed to be almost preternaturally one step ahead of them, seemingly clearing out safe houses and warehouses three days before the existence of such even crossed NOCPD desks.

Jack turned down a side street, watching a pair of figures in dark coats and hats out of the corner of his eye even as they watched him.

The mob all operated at the whim and wit of a few men. They were a shadowy conglomeration of unallied gangsters.

No one had ever laid eyes on them, or even knew where they operated out of. Some preferred moving out in the open, but others, like the Ace of Spades, valued their secrecy.

Rumors said that at least some of them was holed up in Easttown, a burnt out part of the city, but no one was really sure. Not that it mattered

They called the shots, and the gangsters didn't move without their orders. They were beginning to turn on one another.

Passing another street, Jack saw a squad car parked, with two cops lounging on it, eyeing the street through narrowed eyes. He sighed, seeing the irony in policing the police, but someone had to do it…even in a city like New Ophelia

It didn't help that corruption almost seemed like a way of life amongst the police. To not be corrupt was to break some sacred creed.

As a chronic breaker of said creed, Jack knew they had it out for him. If it was up to them, Jack knew they'd have his badge, or his life.

He didn't intend to give up either.

Other men with his disposition had their families threatened, their lives put up to weigh against the job. He didn't intend to give them up either.

In essence, Jack Messer was a wall, and upon him he hoped to break the concerted efforts of the mob and the rumrunners. It was the best, the only way, to do good at that point in time.

It was what he had to do.

Finally pulling the roadster into the parking lot of the old mansion they used as a base, Jack turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. He adjusted his hat, straightened his tie, and then stepped into the building.

There would never be another place, Jack theorized, that was so close to both God and the Devil's work all at once. It was a dangerous paradox, a snake eating its own tail. Jack was never quite sure which end of the snake he was, the eater, or the eaten.

Either way, he was going to get rolled on. That was just the nature of living and working in New Ophelia.

That was just the nature of keeping the peace.

The door swung shut behind him as he entered the building, taking off his hat and striding into the main meeting room. To his surprise, he saw Stuart Seidel already sitting around the table.

Glancing up at him, the man fixed Jack with a weary grin. It had apparently been another late night for him. Jack could see it on his face, could smell it faintly on him.

"Hey Bossman." Seidel's voice was strained and quiet, his eyes narrowing against the light.

It had been a very _long_ night for him.

"What was her name this time?" Jack raised an eyebrow at him. "Is she married? And does her husband know?"

Seidel raised an eyebrow. "Come on now Messer. How stupid do you think I am?"

He frowned, studying Jack's face. "You know, on second thought, don't answer that. I don't think I want to know."

"No, I don't think you do." Jack snarked back, splitting his lips in a small smile. "Now come on. We have miles to go before we sleep."

He shook his head, thinking of the hours of booze-busting that lay between his wife, his children and his bed. "_Miles to go before I sleep._"

His mind swung back to the disappearing man from the day before. Somehow the man had managed to get past him. He wasn't as young as he'd used to be, but he knew he'd noticed someone shoving past him.

There was no way he'd missed a hidden door, not after going over it as thoroughly as he had. it was as if the only option there was involved some sort of magic.

But that was impossible, any magic that there might have been couldn't have survived the Great War. Jack allowed the man, and solving where he went to color the back of his mind as he filled out paperwork.

Whether he could solve it or not, it provided an interesting locked room mystery.

"Here's something that might turn interesting, Messer."

Jack glanced up from his desk, glancing across the room. At his own desk, Seidel was bent over a paper, studying it.

He looked up at Jack, waving the paper. "Says here local authorities were called in after a young woman stumbled into their offices claiming she stumbled into what she thought was a still. A massive one. Cops were sent out to look, and came back with nothing."

One eyebrow raised in a significant look Jack's direction.

Tapping a finger on his desk, Jack nodded. "So were they paid off? If so, by who?"

"Would we refuse?" Seidel asked, flashing Jack a lopsided grin. Seeing the cloudy expression on the other man's face, his own expression soured. "Sorry Charlemagne, didn't mean to tread on your cape."

"Who's treading on what?" The door clicked shut and Jack saw Seidel wince.

"I was just explaining to King Arthur over here about a particularly interesting incident in the paper. Looks like it might be a case."

"I hope so. It'd give me another good bedtime story to tell Bethany."

Turning his head the other way, Jack saw Houston Adams step through the doorway, a huge beaming smile on his face. The man had a daughter roughly around the age of Jack's own daughter Evie Rose. Bethany Adams was her father's whole world.

Jack also didn't miss Seidel flinching again as Adams entered. The man alway seemed to grow uncomfortable around the subject of Adam's family.

Jack wondered if it was because Seidel had no family of his own, or if it was something else. Bethany was a friend of Evie's and from the few times he'd seen her, Jack knew she didn't get her dark, curly hair from the towheaded Adams.

Either way, the men were his allies, his coworkers and his compatriots. Whatever problems they had with each other, they weren't Jack's and they shouldn't follow them to work.

They did, but they shouldn't.

"How _is_ Bethany?" Jack inquired, folding his hands on top of his desk and leaning towards Adams.

Adams chuckled. "Right as rain as usual. She's been telling me and her mom how she wants to play with Evie again soon."

"I'll talk to Colette and see what we can do." Jack grinned. He knew the two girls were good friends, and Evie herself had been inquiring when she could go play with Bethany.

They'd need to do it soon, or else the children might riot. Jack inwardly laughed at the thought.

"You're all just standing around huh, gossiping?" A fourth figure stood int eh doorway and Jack felt the warmth go out of the room. It wasn't that he took things too seriously, Jack respected Gene Randall's dedication to the job.

It was just that the man was so stubborn about it. He was every bit as corrupt as Seidel, but believed that they had to do everything by the book in order to make it look legitimate.

He was everything Jack dreaded, corrupt and competent.

"What is it to you Randall?" Seidel snarked back, "We just took down one of the biggest rum-runners in the country. Give us some room to _celebrate_."

He eyed Jack, barely hiding the derision and contempt in his eyes.

For his part, Jack just returned the stare, even-gazed. "If we're all here, let's get back to work. You said you'd found something?"

Seidel nodded slowly, before turning back to his paper. "I did…A little north of the city a bunch of farmers think they stumbled onto a still. I figure the boss'll want us to look into it."

He frowned, glancing around the office. "Where is old Doyle anyway?"

"Out I'd imagine." Adams shrugged. "Man has a family, presumably he has to spend time with them."

"You'd know about that, wouldn't you Adams?" Jack barely heard Seidel mutter quietly. The man more than likely thought he had muttered it, but the alcohol he had undoubtably imbibed the night before caused him to speak a little louder than meant.

Adams didn't seem to hear him, or didn't seem to care. Jack didn't understand the animosity between the two men, he'd understood they'd worked together even before he'd joined up in '23.

He did however, see how Seidel eyed Adams' wife Clair. That much at least was clear to him.

Jack had been around the block before.

"I was actually busy dealing with the fallout from our little raid yesterday." All four men turned as the sixty year old Zebulon Doyle spoke from the doorway. Leaning on a cane, the man shook his head. "Seems the mayor is quite familiar with our little Watchdog here."

He eyed Jack, frowning. "Your little stunt took down the Thousand Young, but left that spot wide open for someone, _anyone_, to take over."

"I'd expect applicants to start lining up at the door."

Jack opened his mouth to respond but Doyle shook his head. "No, you don't get to defend yourself. This is your doing, and you're going to have to deal with the consequences. The world's corrupt, and you've got to learn to swim in it. Six years, and you still haven't learned."

"I ought to ship you off somewhere remote, you and your whole family."

He waved Jack down as the man began to rise, fists clenched. "Don't bother. We both know you won't."

"Sit down."

After a minute, Jack did, hesitating for a moment as he weighed his options. Finally he fully lowered himself to his seat, fuming.

Even in what should have been the heart of some form of justice, corruption was everywhere. It was something he didn't, _couldn't_, understand.

There'd been no time to acclimate to it after the War, not with how Jack thought. The War had soured the outlook of most of the men who had fought through it. To them corruption made sense because nothing that had existed before France made sense anymore.

Jack could understand them, but couldn't share their beliefs. Too much had happened to him that convinced him otherwise.

Where they saw the only option being corruption, he only saw the need to help people, to do good. It was the only thing he could do, the only thing he _knew_ how to do.

"You and Seidel are going to go check out this new moonshining operation, figure out why they haven't crossed our radar yet."

Doyle's face was stern as he addressed them. "You'll be going along with the young police detective who first took the woman's statement. I want to know if he knows anything he hasn't told us."

"First thing tomorrow _sir_?" Jack inquired, wanting to be able to see his family before he was tossed out into the great unknown.

"First thing tomorrow. You'll get to see your family before you go." Face wooden, Doyle eyed Jack. "First thing in the morning though. I won't accept you being late."

His eyes shifted over to Seidel. "You'll be fired."

Seidel made a face, but by that point Doyle had stepped away. "All right. You all know the drill. Paperwork, forms and figures, extra this time thanks to Messer's little stunt."

There was a general groaning from the men, and more then a few glares cast Jack's direction. Still, they set to work, Adams humming under his breath as Randall set to work with the same inhuman focus he always seemed to possess.

Jack for his part just sat down and began silently filling out paperwork. It wasn't what he enjoyed, but if it was his penance for doing good, then he'd gladly do it.

What was a little paperwork, after all, weighed against helping people?

So he put himself ot his work and tried to shut out the outside world, tried to make his entire existence the little stack of papers on his desk. He sympathized with Colette, always did when it came to filling these out.

He would have to tell her that night, when he saw her.

Until then, it was just the paperwork, his pen, and himself, alone in the wide world.

Or so he thought.

"Hey Bossman…" Seidel's voice rang across the office, confusion lacing through it. "There's a…bird at your windowsill."

His voice was puzzled enough to the point where Jack actually glanced over towards the window by his desk. True enough, there was an owl sitting on the windowsill staring in.

Jack was almost certain the bird was staring at _him_. As he watched, it waddled forward and tapped its beak against the glass. The man made no move to open it and so the bird tapped against the glass again, still seemingly staring at Jack.

"Hey Bossman." Seidel sidled up to him. "I think it wants you to leet in. I…that's not normal, right?"

Shaking his head, Jack stared at the bird. "No I don't think it is."

Seidel coughed. "This is…this is going to sound crazy but…why don't we let it in?"

Turning his head, Jack stared at him perplexed. The other man sighed. "Look, It's going to be a boring day and an owl, tapping on the glass in the middle of the morning might be the highlight. Humor me will you?"

It was a long silent moment, but finally jack reached forward and unlocked the window. The little owl took a few tentative steps in, before stopping and staring up at Jack.

The bird seemed wholly interested in him.

"I think there's a piece of paper stuck to its leg." Seidel observed, staring down at the bird.

Indeed there was, and Jack reached forward, intent on pulling it off. To his surprise he found the paper was tied to it.

Purposefully tied to it.

He untied it and set it to the side. A moment later Seidel coughed. "I think…Messer I think your name is on it."

"The owl has a note for you."

Jack turned and saw Seidel holding out the paper towards him. "I'm not faking Messer. It says it right here."

Indeed, the letter did have Jack's last name printed on it. Taking it from Seidel's fingers, he turned it over in his hands. The paper was fine and some of the finest he'd ever seen. His name was printed on it in a stylized script.

Flipping it open, his eyes read the words stenciled within.

_Messer, my Dear Friend. _

_It has been years, but I have never forgotten our one singular meeting. It is good to see you are in good health and your family is well. Myself and my family are doing well just as well. Past the pleasantries, I know the man you seek, your vanishing friend from the other day. I believe I have information you might need, though telling you is breaking laws I have sworn myself to. Meet me in Woodfin Square this evening, and I will try to help you. _

_After all, you might help be able to help me. _

_Your friend _

_Henry P. _

Jack frowned down at the paper, crumpling in its hand. Across from him, Seidel frowned. "Did it say anything?"

For a moment Jack contemplated telling him, coming clean about the man disappearing in front of him He contemplated getting his take on it.

He also contemplated how crazy he'd sound, and how much he'd catch from the others for it. With that in mind he kept his mouth shut.

He'd just have to meet this 'friend' of his and see what the man had to say. He just wished Colette could have gone with him.

He'd need her to back him up.


	3. Chapter 3

With a final, muted curse, Colette gave up on the drawer.

It was stuck, had always been stuck, and she didn't know of a time when it would ever be unstuck. The first week she'd gone to work there she'd closed the drawer a little too forcefully when it had slid back open on her.

It had refused to close, now it refused to open. She was almost sure it never would. Colette honestly wouldn't know what to do with it if it ever did.

She'd have more paperwork to do.

Glancing up, the woman allowed her eyes to travel the length of the room. Just like her, there were four other secretaries hard at work at their typewriters.

One desk however was strangely empty.

"Has anyone seen Barbara?"

The other secretaries all shook their heads, never looking up from their typing. Reading the nature of the room, Colette turned to her own typewriter, and the stack of handwritten pages by her desk.

She had work to do.

As her fingers fell to the keys and began transcribing the handwritten notes in the clacking, sterile language of the machine, she couldn't help but let her mind wander back to the empty desk.

It wasn't like Barbara to be late, it wasn't like any of them to be late. Orson Price was one of the preeminent lawyers in New Ophelia and demanded constant work from his employees.

Even if one of them took an unscheduled, unexpected break, it could cause the whole ship to list. Barbara knew that, same as they all did. So where had she gone?

The woman felt a chill crawl down her spine. Something about it felt very wrong.

Changing out sheets, she glanced over at the empty desk. Colette had never particularly associated with Barbara, but she'd known her to be devoted to her work.

It was wholly unlike her to do this.

Still, there was work to do, papers to file. There were men to research cases against, and men to help build up cases for. She was little more than a cog in the great machine that was Price's office.

It was a machine that was missing a cog, but one that would have to run on, regardless. Still in the back of her mind, she resolved to find out Barbara's address and go check on her after work.

Maybe it was caring for Margot, but something had Colette feeling more aware of everyone else around her. She wanted to help people, like she and Jack used to.

The woman missed being his secretary. She knew he'd hated being a private investigator, had felt like he wasn't doing any good, but it had been a way for her to have some adventure in her life.

She was happy where she was, like she'd told Jack the night before, but she couldn't lie to herself and say she didn't miss it a little.

Being his secretary, with all the action and excitement that came with it, certainly outdid being just one of several in the company she worked for. Some small part of her longed for that adventure, even though she knew the danger that would come with it.

Still, there were men to put away, terrible men who had done horrible things. There were families who would not know peace unless he did her job.

So she buckled down, pushed her wants away, and began typing in earnest. Adventure would find them eventually, at that moment, she had a job to do.

And Colette Messer was nothing if not thorough.

"You're a hard worker, aren't you?"

Glancing up, Colette saw an older woman, somewhere in her forties, frowning at her. She was one of the other secretaries, a standoffish woman named Gina.

She now stood over Colette, her brow furrowed in contemplation. One finger tapped against his crossed arms as she stared down at her.

"It still surprises me that you're working here, as young as you are."

Colette frowned back at the woman, feeling her hackles begin to raise, she'd had to work hard to get the respect she'd gotten from them.

"What do you mean?"

She knew she'd been looked down on when she'd started, being only twenty-one and seen as not having the same experience the other women had. When they discovered she'd taken the job because her husband was a prohibition agent, it had only increased.

They'd thought she was nothing more than a spy for the group her husband had worked for. When they'd had a Christmas party, they hadn't bothered to invite her, the woman only finding out about it the day of. They'd already filled up to capacity.

That was one of the only times Colette could remember crying herself to sleep as an adult. Growing up in a mansion, cut off from the rest of the world, Colette hadn't had many friends as a child.

Leaving home as a fairly young teenager, her time navigating the streets of New Ophelia and hopping from flophouse to flophouse didn't allow for much clinging onto friends either. She'd learned how to make do just by herself.

Still, she'd thought that maybe the older women might befriend her, might help her along her way. The woman had felt old, older than she should have, but at the time she was still only twenty-one.

She, despite all odds, still wanted someone to tell her she was doing things like she was supposed to. It was something she hadn't gotten in a long time.

"Aren't you supposed to be running around with the rest of the flappers or something?" The older secretary frowned. "Or maybe your husband doesn't allow that either."

She chuckled, smirking. "Too much drinking?"

Colette just shook her head, turning back to her papers. "I've been working here for seven years. It shouldn't matter what my husband's job is. I'm proud of him either way."

"And I'll do my job either way, no matter what. I'll be here long after you've all left." She looked up, staring flatly at the woman. "Am I clear?"

The woman nodded and Colette turned back to her typewriter. "Good. Now if you excuse me, I've got work to do."

Her hands fell to typing where she lost the next few hours. Typing was and always had been, a happy place for her. She had first used it as an excuse in her youth, flirting with it as a means of escape.

Once life had hit her and she'd found herself having to fend for herself in the big wide world, writing had provided a way to survive. She had found being a secretary to be a secure, if not glamorous, way to make a living.

It had seemed relatively securer job than being a maid or nanny. Secretaries didn't seem to be framed so much for stealing the silverware.

"Excuse me, Mrs?"

Colette Messer looked up from the paperwork strewn across her desk. Her lips turned downward into a confused frown at the sight of the man in front of her.

The whip thin, dark haired man smiled at her from across the desk. "Mrs Messer? You're the wife of Jack Messer, correct?"

"I am…." She answered slowly. Her mind went through all the different gangsters her husband crossed, who this man could be an agent of. Ducking behind the table, her hand went for the M1911 she kept there.

For his part, the man didn't seem perturbed, smiling genially at her as he adjusted his wire-framed glasses. "Pardon me, I'm an old associate of your husband, though one he probably doesn't remember. I wanted to check on his family, see how you all were."

His clipped British tones seemed to match the plum colored suit he wore and the easy smile on his face. Colette could sense no ill will from the man and her hand began moving away from the gun.

"How do you know my husband?"

The man clasped his hands in front of him. "We met during the War, once. I'm part of the reason he's still alive today."

He bowed his head deferentially towards her. "Not however, the most important part. I doubt you've forgotten that day."

How could she not.

_"__Hey Shoulders, we've got another one coming in."_

_Head whipping around from where she'd been cleaning blood off her arms, Colette Burke felt her features contort at the use of the nickname. The head nurse had decided that Colette was too difficult a name to remember so had decided to name her after her most prominent features. _

_It was demeaning and she hated it, but there was no changing the woman's mind. After a week she'd given up entirely on correcting her. _

_She opened her mouth to snark back at her when she saw the soldier that had been brought into the room. She'd seen terrible injuries before, but this one almost made her feel physically ill. _

_The man's throat looked like someone had splayed it with a scalpel, blood and skin where neither should be and parts of the throat visible that she was certain should have been covered by flesh. _

_Half of his face was coated in a mask of freshly bled blood and she couldn't tell how much of his face was actually left. Forcing herself to breathe, Colette shut her eyes and made herself calm down. _

_She pushed her bile back down and stilled her shaking hands. This was nothing more than just cleaning up a mess. _

_It was exactly like her old job as a maid. _

_Grabbing a washcloth, she bathed the destroyed throat as best she could. Thankfully it didn't look like the wound had done any debilitating damage. It looked like it had done a number on his vocal cords, but it wouldn't be too hard to clean it up. _

_Picking up tweezers, she carefully picked at the pieces of dirt and debris, trying to keep her hands from shaking. The man had endured enough without her spearing his insides with the delicate instruments of her profession. _

_The girl had never fancied herself a nurse had never entertained any fancies of being one as a child. She had joined up because it had seemed the right thing to do, the patriotic thing to do, and because it had either been that or more miserable hours at the switchboard. _

_Then she'd actually seen the face of the war, of the soldiers, and realized how out of her depth she was. _

_Putting down the tweezers, she cut away at the edges of the wound, and washed it with Carbolic lotion being careful to not get any into the wound. It was then bipped and bound in gauze with the same lotion. _

_With the major wound fixed she moved onto cleaning his face, and wiping the blood away. Thankfully the man's face seemed largely intact. He'd been burned on the side of his face, but it didn't look too severe. He'd live. _

_Washing off the rest of the blood and moving forward to sew up the smaller wounds, Colette gasped. Impossibly, unexpectedly, she knew the soldier. _

_A thousand years ago, a hundred lifetimes ago, she'd met the soldier. He'd been one of the police officers who had shown up when Mr. Honeycutt had tried to have her falsely arrested for stealing his silver. _

_It had been him who had spoken up for her, who had said something hadn't sounded right. He had flat out refused to arrest her, or to slap the cuffs on her. It had been him who had kept that other Irish cop from manhandling her. _

_She owed her freedom to him. _

_Hands moving even more gently now, she dabbed at his wounds, washing them. As the cold washcloth touched his face, the man murmured, his good eye fluttering open. _

_"__Lu…Lucy?" _

_One hand reached up to touch her cheek and she caught it, stroking the back with her thumb. "Shh, shhh. Hush now. My name's Colette. I'm going to take good care of you. You're safe now." _

_She held his hand up to her cheek, allowing him to feel her warm skin on the back of his hand. _

_This seemed to calm the man as he let out one long gust of a sigh and his eye fluttered closed. After checking to make sure breath was still pushing through his lungs, Colette went back to work, cleaning his wounds. _

_Humming softly to herself-and, she supposed, to him-Colette set back to work on cleaning the cuts on his face, gently working the shrapnel out and dabbing at the blood and burnt skin. _

_It would be a long job, but one she'd do gladly. _

_"__Lucy! LUCY!"_

_Colette's eyes snapped open, immediately noting the lack of sun peaking through the darkness outside of the tent. She blinked, dazed and puzzled for a moment, wondering what woke her in the middle of the night. _

_"__LUCY!" _

_The sound of the man's anguished cry split the night, almost drowning out the grunting and sounds of struggle coming from the patient's tent. Rising quickly, the girl knotted a nightgown around herself before tiptoe sprinting out into the night. _

_She made her way to the tent, seeing the lights of the lamps inside as they illuminated the shadow play of the struggling figures. Darting inside, she saw a team of three nurses trying to restrain a thrashing patient. _

_Her patient. _

_The man looked panicked and wild as he thrashed against them, struggling to get back to his feet. Much to her dismay, Colette saw the gauze around his throat had come loose in the melee and fresh blood was leaking anew. _

_One of the other nurses glanced behind her for a second as the girl approached. "Thank goodness, more hands. Help us get him restrained, he won't calm down." _

_The man whipped his head around as she approached his eyes locking with hers. Momentarily, Colette felt her breath go out of her, caught in the gaze of his ice blue eyes. _

_Taking another step forward, she raised her hands placatingly. "Hi. Do you remember me? I'm the nurse from earlier. Colette. Please you've got to calm down. You're safe here with us, but we can't help you if you keep knocking your bandages loose."_

_Her feet carried her quickly towards the short, red-haired soldier, who seemed to calm down as she drew closer. Reaching out, she took his hand again, pressing it to her cheek. "Just lay back down. I'll sit here with you all night so you won't be alone. Okay?"_

_The man didn't answer, sparing his bandages, but settled down as Colette pulled up a chair next to his cot. Still holding his hand, she watched as he lay back down, closing his eyes. Again his breathing slowed and she glanced over at the other nurses. "Can you get me more gauze? I need to fix him." _

_Reluctantly one of the nurses went and fetched the supplies she needed. Colette found herself pinned by the senior nurse as the woman scowled at her. "He almost hurt two of my best nurses tonight. That man is an animal."_

_Shaking her head, Colette brushed past the woman's clipped British accusations. "He's hurt, both physically and mentally. He needs care, just like anyone."_

_"__Or is that not why we do things here?"_

_The nurse glowered. "Fine. But he's your patient, your sole responsibility. I won't sacrifice anyone else to that maniac, but if that's what you want to do, go ahead." _

_The younger woman didn't answer her as she took the gauze and lotion, turning back to her patient. Behind her, she heard the woman huff and storm off. _

_Blocking her out, Colette set to work replacing the bandage on his injury, barely conscious of the fact she was getting his blood all over her hands. All that was on her mind was making sure the bandage would be secure for his next outburst. _

_It was her turn to look after him now. She couldn't let him down. _

_Colette woke up the next morning to the sound of movement next to her, and the complete lack of feeling in her hand. Raising her head, she saw the man staring confusedly down at her hand, and then up at her. _

_Trying to soothe him, she smiled. "Finally awake huh? Don't do anything too strenuous, you're still too weak."_

_The man nodded at her before he lurched forward and threw up black bile all over her shoes. Colette winced, but didn't flinch more than that. _

_Glancing up, the man's eyes seemed to plead with her not to be angry and she smiled at him. "It's fine. It means you're healing." _

_It only took her a minute to wipe it up and change into a different pair of shoes. She watched the man watch her as she moved about the small tent. His eyes held a certain desperation, a sadness in them. It was like he looked at her and saw someone else. _

_She felt like she could understand the feeling. _

_Most looked at him, she wagered, and saw only the harsh lines, the square face and the bulldog like features. They saw the harsh man, the fighter. _

_The soldier. _

_She saw beyond that. She saw the man who had refused to treat her like a low class thief during the incident with the silverware. She saw the man who had escorted her gently from the house, arm in arm rather than in handcuffs. _

_He had spared her, had saved her, and now she'd been given the chance to give back. It was her job now to save him. _

_Returning to his side, she placed a silver chamberpot, no doubt looted from some Victorian mansion, at his feet. "The next time you feel the need to be sick again, you can do it in that pot."_

_He obliged. _

_Sitting down next to the man and patting his back, she decided the best thing to do would be to talk. "So I don't think I ever said thank you. For that business with the silverware." _

_His head jerked up as he studied her face. Those same ice blue eyes studied her every feature. _

_Almost without thinking, she wondered if he liked what he saw. _

_Immediately she pushed the thought from her head, it wasn't the time or place for that sort of thing. He was her patient, she didn't need to think of it as anything else. _

_"__So thank you." She smiled at him. "You saved my life that night"_

_Briefly she wondered what to say next 'this is me returning the favor'? That sounded too weak to her, like that was the only reason she was fixing him. _

_She'd have done it anyway. _

_The man yawned and she saw him settling back, closing his eyes again. Another brief wince rolled through her, in time with his own as the action tore at his damaged throat. _

_But then he was asleep and she breathed easier as he did _

_She wondered briefly if she'd ever know his name, if he'd ever speak again. The few words he'd spoken before (the word) had come out in a garbled mush of a voice. It sounded to her like someone trapped in a deep well, unable to get air. _

_His voice would probably never recover from that state, and even if it never got any worse, she wondered if he'd even want to talk. The man might never get used to the sound of his own voice again. _

_That seemed to her to be a crime far too heinous to think on. _

Colette nodded, staring at the man.

How could she forget that?

The man smiled. "I don't mean to brag ma'am, but I was the soldier who dragged him back to that field hospital. I've felt responsible for him ever since."

Frown returning, Colette felt her forehead wrinkle. "You've been watching my husband?"

"People from my…corner of the world have been watchig the Meseers since long before your husband came of age. Its a shame what happened to his sister. She would have been…special."

He tipped the bowler hat he held in one hand, smiling still as warmly. "Have a good day Mrs. Messer, and don't worry. No harm will come to you or your family."

His eyes flicked down to the stack of papers on her desk. "Rather odd filing work there…or is that top one misplaced?"

Colette's eyes flicked down to the paper at her desk for a half seecond. In that span of time there was a popping noise and when she glanced back up, the man was gone.

The only thing that seemed to indicate he'd been there at all was a card left on her desk, written out in an exquisite hand.

_Henry Potter_

_Wizengamot _

Colette could only stare down at the paper and wonder what it meant. It seemed as though adventure was at her doorstep again.


	4. Chapter 4

The courtyard of New Ophelia Secondary School was abuzz as a crowd of students swarmed and surrounded three in particular. Two boys were standing and circling each other like dogs while the third-a young woman-sat dazed on the ground.

Making up the part of the group closest to the three, and the only ones not cheering or jeering, a group of teenagers surrounding a girl in a wheelchair tried to make their way to the downed girl.

"Mind your own business String-bean." One of the boys, bigger and meaner, growled at the other. "This doesn't concern you."

This garnered a few whoops and cheers from certain members of the audience, all of whom were friends, or terrified of, the first boy.

"That's my sister." The other boy countered. "Of course it does."

From her position on the ground, the girl looked up indignant. She opened her mouth to say something, but the first boy beat her to it.

"Well then tell her to stop being such a broad-"

_Wham!_

He was abruptly cut off and knocked off his feet as the second boy cleared the gap between them, smashing his fist into his face. "Don't you _ever_ talk about her like that again."

A hand suddenly reached up and caught his other wrist, holding him steady. Whipping his head around, he saw the girl, now on her feet, eyes blazing.

"I can take care of myself Connie!"

The boy sighed, shaking his head. "I know that Evie. But he said-!"

"I know what he said! He's just a bully though Connie! He's not anything! Just let it go!" The girl pulled herself to her feet using his arm as a lever. "Please! I can handle this!"

"That's right String-Bean. Let her handle me. I can take it." The boy made a rude gesture towards Evie, sneering all the while. With another cry, Connie broke through the girl's grip and threw himself at the boy, hands going for his throat.

He made contact with his full weight behind him, bowling the bully over and catching a fist to his stomach in the process. The two scuffled on the ground as Connie felt the other boy's superior weight begin to dislodge him.

Connie landed two blows onto the boy's face before feet hooked under his stomach and booted him off. Hitting the ground with a thud, the boy braced himself as the bully pulled himself to his feet, beginning to stalk towards him.

"_What is the meaning of this_?"

Hands gripped Connie's elbows and dragged him away from the boy. He was roughly pulled to his feet as the 10th grade history teacher stepped around him. "What were you _doing_?"

Connie stared insolently at the man, grumbling under his breath. "He insulted my sister."

The history teacher glanced past him. "Is that right Miss Messer?"

Staring at her brother, Evie could only nod. "Rhett said some…some horrible things about me _to_ me. Connie was just defending me."

"I was just saying what everyone thinks." The downed Rhett hissed, holding his face. "The Messer twins clearly sleep in the same-"

Connie made a lunge for him, restrained only by the history teacher. "That's enough Rhett. You and Connie will both see me in my office. _Now_. We'll discuss punishment for the both of you."

Both boys were unceremoniously frogmarched away, leaving Evie to pick herself up in t he midst of the dispersing crowd.

"Evie!"

"Rosie!"

"Evie are you all right?"

The small group that had stayed silent during the cheering of the others surrounded her,. A tanned skin girl with dark hair held out a hand to help her up as Evie used the armrest of a blonde girl's wheelchair to steady herself.

"Thanks Clover, Alice." she thanked the brunette and the blonde in turn.

The wheelchair bound blonde girl shook her head. "You really know how to pick 'em don't you Rosie?"

Evie scoffed. "I never dated Rhett, nor do I have any intention to." She shrugged, smiling at one of the boys. "Bullies aren't really my type."

She glanced back at the group as a whole. "Connie just doesn't understand that I've got a good head on my shoulders."

"I think that's your problem Rosie." A taller, blonde boy chuckled. "Seems most of the guys in school agree with you."

"But you don't. Right Lewis?" The dark haired girl teased.

Chuckling, the boy snaked an arm around her waist. "That's right Clove. Only got eyes for you."

Beside them, Alice snorted, glancing at Clover. "I'm sorry for the conduct of my brother. He's not the brightest when it comes to you."

"Well that's fine. Because I'm no better." Clover chuckled, earning laughter from the others.

Evie could only shake her head and laugh along with them. The five of them, Alice, Clover, Lewis, Warren and herself, had been friends for years. Even as the rest of the school treated her as some object to be coveted and won, they valued her for who she was as a person.

Most guys didn't know she wanted to be a police detective. When they found out, they tended to make fun of her, or derided her for it. It seemed most didn't think it was the place for a woman, or at least a girl who looked like her.

It seemed neither of the Messer twins were quite what other people expected. She'd heard those same boys complaining that they'd never expected quiet, bookish Connie Messer to have a temper like a firecracker.

Somewhere up above them the school bell rang and Lewis nodded back towards thee building. "We should probably head back in, before anybody else gets in trouble."

There was a smattering of agreements and the group began making their way towards the door.

"Hey, Red. Come here a minute."

Evie felt something hit her lightly in the back of the leg and she glanced down, seeing small pebble wobbling behind her foot. Looking up, she met the eyes of a young man standing across the way from her.

He smiled crookedly at her, beckoning her towards him. "C'mere Red. Just for a second."

Evie frowned at him, pointing at herself. He nodded, beckoning to her "C'mon Red. I don't bite."

His grin widened. "Unless you'd like me to."

Her mother had told her about strange men like the one in front of her. He leaned on the hood of a car, and flipped a small thin stick between his fingers.

Evie found herself stepping towards the young man, somehow drawn to him. Feebly she gestured back at the building. "I've…I've got school."

"School's useless." The young man shook his head. "I haven't been in years and I've turned out okay."

Sliding down from his chair, he strode over to her, extending a hand. "Name's Cillian Kearney. At your service." He tipped an imaginary cap at her.

The girl chuckled, despite herself. "Evie Rose-"

"-Messer. I know." The young man chuckled. "Your daddy's a prohibition agent."

Another easy laugh escaped his lips.

Evie frowned again, instincts her parents bred into her firing. How had the boy already known so much about her? Was he tracking her? Stalking her? What was his game?

Was it someone her father knew?

Then he flashed a grin at her and it suddenly became difficult for her to remember anything her father had said.

She mentally shook her head, forcing herself to clear it. Her mother would be disappointed in her if she knew the girl was just falling over herself. Especially if the man was going after her to get at her father.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that a problem?"

Cillian shook his head. "No just…occupationally interesting. Not as interesting as you though."

He reached out towards her, his fingers tickling the edges of her hair.

At the touch of his fingers, Evie stepped back, suddenly on guard again. "I don't…I've got school."

She jerked her head backwards towards the school, desperately hoping someone would come looking for her. One of her friends would surely notice she was missing.

There was something about the boy that seemed…dangerous. Everything her mother had told her, had taught her and warned her was echoing and arguing her backwards towards the school.

The girl took a step back and the man rolled his eyes. "School's useless. I mean…I haven't gone in years and look how I turned out."

He flashed a crooked smile at her and Evie rolled her eyes. "I really do need to go. I've got a class I've got to go to."

Taking a few careful steps back, she tried to make it very clear to the young man that she really was leaving right that instant.

The boy shrugged, chuckling again. "All right. Go back, go to your classes. But listen, if you're interested in going somewhere a bit more…fun afterwards, meet me back here after school."

He paused for a second, thinking. "And don't tell your brother. I like my nose and teeth the way they are. He has a…reputation."

Evie felt a swell of pride for her brother. Though she thought he went overboard in his notion she needed protecting, the fact that even this young man she'd never met before was wary of him meant he must have been doing something right.

Still, something about Cillian piqued her interest and so she promised herself she'd meet him after school for just a couple minutes, if only to see what he was about. Her father would disapprove, her mother would tell her she wasn't thinking.

Either way, she knew it would eat at her if she didn't.

Evie Rose Messer was nothing if not stubborn.

"So what's the sentence this time?"

Connie Messer glanced up at the jovial sound of the other boy's voice. Catching sight of the dark haired boy, he grinned. "Same as usual Anson. 'How dare you…he's a football player…His family owns the school…"

He shrugged. "Same old thing."

"You can't ever catch a break can you Con?" The boy shook his head. "The way people treat you, you'd believe you're the troublemaking one."

He shrugged. "Maybe it's the upbringing."

The two fell into step as Connie turned his head. "How do you figure that?"

Anson was silent for a long time before speaking. "You didn't grow up having to learn to be quiet because the alternative of you talking is too terrible to think of."

He shuddered, rubbing his arms. "You learn very, very quickly."

A frown crossed over Connie's face as he felt a coldness settle around him. Anson didn't usually go into his family, but he had hinted at enough.

It made Connie's blood boil the same way seeing boys try to walk over his sister did. The difference was that while he could hit and scare the boys away from his sister, he was sure he couldn't confront Anson's problems the same way.

Not with who his father was.

His hands ached and his mind slid back to his sister. Evie had always been there, had always been the one first to anything. She'd leapt while Connie had looked. It had been such a frequent thing that Connie had taken to looking for the both of them.

As a consequence, he often saw what his sister didn't, the danger in other people. After his sister came home one too many times crying about how someone called her 'carrot-top', he'd decided he'd do more than look.

He'd keep her safe.

Evie hadn't appreciated it at first, Connie was almost certain she still didn't. The girl was stubborn, same as he was, same as their parents were.

There was a small chance though, a tiny chance, that she might be growing to appreciate it. Not that it mattered to him, but the thought that his sister actually appreciated the lengths he went to filled him with some amount of pride.

"So what'd our Con get himself into this time? Another fight?"

Connie turned his head, seeing the black haired girl make her way up to them. As usual, she had a stack of books pressed against her chest, alphabetized despite their current transport.

Glancing down at Connie's hand, she suddenly shoved the books towards Anson, one newly freed hand outstretched. "Let me see."

Reluctantly, Connie placed his hand in hers and she tutted softly. "You _have_ been fighting again."

"Somebody has to." Connie muttered lamely.

Glancing up at him with unimpressed sea blue eyes, the girl turned to her purse slung over her shoulder. "If I'm correct my dad should have…"

She fished around in it for a moment before exclaiming triumphantly and pulling out a small bottle. Noting Connie's unsure expression she shook her head. "Some salve. Should make it hurt a bit less."

With a sigh Connie relented, allowing the girl to rub some of it on the back of his hand. Flexing his fingers experimentally, he smiled. "You know Rinne, you're dad's a wizard with this stuff."

"Don't tell him that." She mused, paying attention to his knuckles. "He's worse than I am at that sort of thing."

Looking up, she shot him a quick smile before turning and grabbing her books from Anson's hands. "C'mon. We're going to be late."

If there was one thing Corrine Allard cared about above anything else, it was learning. She was constantly devouring any sort of book she could get her hands on, almost to the detriment of the world around her.

Connie had even been forced to admit once-though he'd deny ever thinking it-that the sight of her lost deep in a book was one of the most enchanting things he'd ever seen. There was something about her furrowed brow and narrowed eyes that just reached out to him.

Almost on cue, the school bell rang and Corrine took off like a shot. Connie glanced at Anson, shrugging, before the two sprinted after her.


End file.
